


controlled burns

by daykid



Series: jetsam (wonboo) [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Seventeen, Bittersweet, Distance, Healing, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Past Relationship(s), one bed trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:33:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28612125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daykid/pseuds/daykid
Summary: Wonwoo isn’t good with explaining emotions, but he knows when he’s burning. It’s as simple as the slight ache in his chest as he slips on his best dress shirt, over and around his shoulders that refuse to stop pulling apart.Tectonic,Seungkwan had once called them.He likes to believe he has great self-control; yet here he is, falling for Seungkwan’s smile again by a poolside. Idiot.
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan/Jeon Wonwoo
Series: jetsam (wonboo) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118513
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33





	controlled burns

**Author's Note:**

> playing self control by frank occean
> 
> cw alcohol

Wonwoo isn’t good with explaining emotions, but he knows when he’s burning. It’s as simple as the slight ache in his chest as he slips on his best dress shirt, over and around his shoulders that refuse to stop pulling apart. _Tectonic_ , Seungkwan had once called them.

Which goes to say that Wonwoo is the earth, cracking and breaking at the seams to make way for sky-scraping mountains. Or maybe he’s the mountain, reaching and stretching upwards trying to touch the stars. And Seungkwan, well, he’s a star.

Wonwoo finds himself picking up pieces of Seungkwan wherever he goes. At some point he starts finding them within himself. He starts his mornings with a cup of Americano, puts his left sock on before the right one, and always drives slowly. It’s a little wild, to not have seen Seungkwan for so long but still hear his nagging in Wonwoo’s head like he’d never left. His car is the only thing Seungkwan has touched that remains the same: a rusty blue pickup truck with a jammed CD player. It subjects Wonwoo to a mixtape Seungkwan made him when they were still young. He’d gotten it stuck in a fit of rage, over a conversation he can’t remember anymore, and the consequences lingered just like everything else.

It’s a few hours into his drive when Wonwoo turns the radio off. He’s on his way to pick up Seungkwan from the airport. The last time he’d seen the other could be anywhere between a few months to years. Distance has never bothered Wonwoo. Seungkwan has hands like seasons— busy, but he always comes back.

When his familiar smile bursts out from the gates, Seungkwan jumps into Wonwoo’s arms amidst the millions of cameras flashing around them.

“Hyung,” he says, hair tickling Wonwoo’s nose, “good to see you.”

Seungkwan feels light and looks older too. There's something about the way his jeans hug his legs just right that sends Wonwoo’s stomach into hysterics, not that he would mention it.

“Likewise,” the older replies. It earns him a playful hit on his chest.

Wonwoo helps Seungkwan with his bags. They’re bright orange, covered in stickers from every country imaginable, and they squeak as he rolls them through the airport into a parking complex. It's getting close to summer now, so the sun isn't down yet as they make their way to Wonwoo’s car. Warm light filters into the garage, casting Seungkwan’s hair in molten reds and golds.

If they were in a cheesy movie, Wonwoo would grab Seungkwan by the waist and kiss him right there. The sunset would project their silhouettes onto the concrete and maybe a song by Park Won would be playing in the background.

Instead of that cinematic other world, they walk in silence.

Everytime Wonwoo wants to speak, the words get stuck under his tongue. He can't even fathom trying to reach out and touch Seungkwan, never mind make a move.

Everytime Seungkwan opens his mouth, it’s just to yawn. Wonwoo doesn't know what to make of that, so he doesn't really try. It would just remind him of all the opportunities he's wasted with trying. If that's even a thing. Maybe “ruined” is a better word for it.

The drive out of Incheon is quiet too. He keeps the stereo off, sparing himself from anything close to reminiscing (Seungkwan’s favourite pastime.) It’s just a little too early at night to think about all the things he's been trying not to since Seungkwan went away.

Wonwoo doesn't trust easily. It's hard for him, letting people in. It’s a fear that can easily slip into all aspects of his life. Then the rest of his emotions get all tangled up between the yearly phone calls and instagram updates his friends leave him, and it’s easier not to feel anything at all. It’s easy to operate on autopilot, there’s not a lot of room for thinking in that.

The silence is much simpler. It’s quite peaceful, actually. Seungkwan just stares at the window, watching the world pass by him.

Wonwoo keeps his eyes on the road, and drives slow.

His car breaks down an hour out. It’s a long time coming, really. Wonwoo’s learnt not to be upset over things he knows are going to happen. Like, don't get upset when it rains if there are clouds out.

“Knew this old thing was gonna kick the dust one day,” Seungkwan mumbles. He’s sitting on the bed of the pickup with his legs swinging back and forth, staring up at the sky.

Wonwoo frowns, “I’m sure it’s fine. Probably just needs a battery change.”

“Sure.”

The way Seungkwan says it reminds Wonwoo that younger’s always hated his car.

“I called the towing company, said that they’ll come get the car in twenty minutes. We won’t be able to rent anything until tomorrow morning though, and the drive is too long for a taxi.”

“What do you think we should do, Dr. Jeon?”

“We’ll probably have to book a hotel for the night,” Wonwoo says with a sigh. He hops onto the cargo bed, making the car bounce lightly.

Seungkwan nods, “fine with me. I’ll text everyone that we’re coming late.”

“Sounds good.”

Wonwoo fumbles with the door lock before scanning the card just right. He pulls in Seungkwan’s suitcases behind him, the owner trailing in after. They turn all the lights on, checking out the bathroom and whether or not they're charging for coffee. Seungkwan is in the middle of consulting their mini fridge when Wonwoo figures out why exactly they got their room so cheap earlier.

“There's only one bed,” he says.

If distance has never bothered Wonwoo, closeness… well, that's a whole different story.

If they were in the same cheesy movie from before, Wonwoo would offer to sleep on the floor, they would argue, and eventually Seungkwan would convince him to share the bed because they don't have extra blankets. Wonwoo, naturally, would believe the lie, because they could have just called room service, and they'd drift closer to each other in their sleep like two magnets.

If it was a bad porno, they’d wake up the next morning with lips pressed accidentally to each other's necks, and they would accidentally (on purpose) have amazing morning sex.

They'd get bad reviews on the internet for looking too in love, Wonwoo thinks. And the video would be called Two Asian Amateurs Get It On In A Hotel Room. Or something else stupid like that.

Seungkwan slides past him and opens the curtains, checking out the view.

“That's fine,” he says.

Wonwoo agrees with a nod for fear of falling into his carefully concocted slow burn. Besides, he doesn't want to sleep on the floor anyways, so why would he offer?

“Maybe for you,” he replies, “you're not the one who’s going to get kicked off the bed at 2am.”

Seungkwan shrugs, “you're used to it.”

Wonwoo hums, not trusting his voice to not give his emotions away. It comes out as pained as his car engine as it sputtered out on the highway.

Used to it. Could he still be used to the way Seungkwan wraps his body around him in his sleep after all this time? Was he ever really used to that in the first place?

Wonwoo’s mind remembers less than he wants it to, and all the wrong things.

After a moment, Seungkwan asks, “you wanna go do something fun? It's late but I'm still pretty jetlagged, so I don't think I'll be sleeping anytime soon.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“There's a pool down there,” the younger says, pointing out of the window, “probably a bar too. Let's get some drinks.”

And Wonwoo agrees again, because agreeing with Seungkwan is easy. It makes pretending like they're friendship hasn't been on an indefinite pause until a few hours ago easy.

Wonwoo likes easy these days. Better for his heart.

Seungkwan somehow convinced Wonwoo to pay for the drinks… is what he would say if he wasn't willing to do it in the first place. They down shots at the bar before walking themselves to the poolside with some slower drinks. Wonwoo has a beer. Seungkwan is drinking a glass of wine.

They sit on some longue chairs, a comfortable distance from each other. Wonwoo looks over at the other, who has his eyes closed. Soft eyelashes splay out over high and round cheeks, looking incredibly beautiful.

“How was your year?” Wonwoo asks. He rolls onto his back, not really able to stomach his own infatuation.

The pool is lit up, making the water seem purple. There's nobody swimming.

“The same.”

“How so?”

“You know,” Seungkwan sighs. He sounds tired more than anything. “Same old schedules, same venues, same jokes. New people, though. New staff. They never seem to stay in one place for a long time.”

 _Just like you_ , Wonwoo thinks, looking down at his glass.

“I missed you too,” Seungkwan says after a moment.

Too, a simple word that can make all the difference. Seungkwan had missed him among the shows and across the world. He missed him between every moment, like he had never really left.

Same as always.

Wonwoo gives a wry smile, “I’d hope so.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How’s Korea’s most eligible bachelor doing? Mum’s still bothering you?”

“Ah,” Wonwoo starts, “well, I can’t say she’s not bothering me.”

Seungkwan barks out a short laugh. The comment was in no way funny, but he’s always been like that.

Wonwoo wants desperately to say he doesn't have to do that around him. He's okay with uncomfortable, it makes him feel real.

“Mum told me I should probably find someone to settle down with, as Korea’s most lonely bachelor. She said that—” _I should move on already—_ “she doesn’t want to die without seeing her grandkids.”

“Your mom is barely fourty,” Seungkwan says heartily, taking a sip from his drink. Wonwoo watches the way his lips drag over the edge of the cup. They catch each other’s eye, stare a bit longer than they should, and Wonwoo feels the need to explain himself.

“You changed your hair,” he says, gesturing to his own head.

Seungkwan doesn’t break his gaze, “Yeah.”

“It’s not blond anymore.”

“Yeah.”

“It looks good.”

“Thank you,” Seungkwan says with a nod. “I like yours too. It looks good long.”

“Thanks. It wasn’t on purpose.”

Seungkwan always told Wonwoo he looked handsome with curly hair. He stopped cutting it after the younger went away, but not for that reason only. It’s just another way to tell the time.

There’s another pause between them.

“When'd you get your hair done?” Wonwoo asks, since he doesn’t know what else to say. Of course, he has things he wants to say, but it wouldn't be right.

Seungkwan thinks, “might’ve been before the New York show. It’s the first leg of the American tour, I guess they wanted to switch things up.”

“Wish I was there,” Wonwoo says before he can regret it.

He wishes a lot of things. He wishes that he and Seungkwan had grown up on the same advice. His mom always told him to hold onto the things he loved, and Seungkwan never had a mom to tell him when to stay. He’s always going away, moving towards the next thing, unable to be still.

Wonwoo’s been trying to find beauty in that, but it's hard. What can be so beautiful in something you can never look at long enough to notice? There's never enough time, and Seungkwan is like a painting that won't let itself dry. He's always slipping away.

They just keep missing each other.

“I’m seeing someone,” Seungkwan admits suddenly. “A soundbooth guy, from the New York show, actually.” He laughs again even though it’s not meant to be humorous.

“Really? What’s he like?”

“He’s nice enough. Quiet, like you. He hasn’t popped the question yet but I’m just assuming it’s exclusive.”

Huh.

“How could someone ever capture the heart of the Boo Seungkwan?” Wonwoo jokes, tone bordering dangerously on the edge of something real. “Is this a hostage situation?”

Seungkwan snorts, “I’ll have you know I’ve had various exploits in my times overseas.”

He didn't need to know that. It must show on his face because Seungkwan’s grin falls right off his face.

“I’m joking of course. Too busy for things like that.”

And it’s awkward again. Had to go and ruin everything didn’t he, Wonwoo thinks.

Then, a song comes on that breaks the silence.

“Shit,” Seungkwan says, his familiar smile returning. “The universe is against us, Jeon. Who the hell plays this shit at a bar?”

“Frank Ocean songs are either for fucking or crying to,” Wonwoo recites from memory.

When they were younger, Seungkwan pulled up a vent diagram on his phone saying, “see? White Ferrari, cry to that. Novacane? That song is pure sex.”

Wonwoo, smaller and softer and happier replied, “so which one are we doing?”

Now, all he can think about is how much he really, really hates that memory.

“Maybe the bartender is trying to capitalize off the misery of people who stay at hotels on Wednesday nights,” he says, cynically.

“Do you always have to have a smartass answer for everything?” Seungkwan cries, feigning irritation. “C’mon, let’s go for a swim.”

It takes a bit of work, but Seungkwan ends up convincing Wonwoo to do a second thing that night.

He strips out of his shirt, leaving only his boxers. Wonwoo does the same.

It's at that point when he realizes that Seungkwan really has gotten older. Gone was the pudgy little kid who was too shy to ever take his shirt off. Now, Seungkwan, casted in purple light by the swimming pool, looks like he's gone through a few tough years. If Wonwoo squints hard enough, he can make out soft muscles. If he squints even harder, Seungkwan looks like something he could attain.

They slip into the water. Seungkwan ducks his entire head under, bubbles rising to the surface. After a second of consideration, Wonwoo does the same.

Water rushes past his ears, muting the world for just a brief second. And then it’s over; his head breaks the surface with a gasp.

Wonwoo looks at Seungkwan floating in the water beside him. He's dangerously close.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

“I missed you.”

“I know, stupid.”

“Seungkwan,” Wonwoo coughs. His throat feels so tight.

“Yeah?”

“I really, really missed you.”

“I know,” Seungkwan says, softer this time. “I'm sorry. You have to believe me.”

“And what if I don't?”

“Why not?”

“Because I don't know how to? Or a part of me doesn’t want to?”

Seungkwan is stunned for a second. He’s frozen in place, not sure what to do with his body. He leans forward and rests his forehead on Wonwoo’s shoulder. It's intimate but not enough to make him shy away.

“I'm sorry. I know it's not enough.”

Wonwoo sighs, “I don't think it'll ever be.”

“Is that okay?”

“I don't know,” Wonwoo replies honestly. “You were just gone. That was just… terrifying. How will I know that it won't happen again?”

What could he say to someone who ghosts him by moving halfway across the world? Is there anything that doesn't sound like it comes straight from the cheesy movies Wonwoo makes up in his head?

“I guess you just have to trust me.”

The way Seungkwan says it sounds like he doesn't trust himself. That's probably not a good sign.

“Why’d you do it?” Wonwoo asks, for better or worse. He’s so infinitely vulnerable in that one moment. It’s impossible to misinterpret the sudden burst of pure terror, all his fears blurring together.

Wonwoo’s afraid of so much. Rejection, ridicule, judgement, betrayal. Afraid of standing too close to a sun for fear of being swallowed by its brilliance. And Seungkwan? Well, he’s forest fire. It’s hard to be around him without falling into his flames, mistaking it for warmth.

“I just wanted to,” Seungkwan replies. “I wasn’t thinking about you.”

The truth barely stings, yet Wonwoo’s vision blurs with tears anyway. It’s just so jarringly honest. It wasn’t necessity, wasn’t survival. It was want. Desire. For different things.

Love alone cannot fill a conversation, or keep people together.

Seungkwan hides his face in Wonwoo’s shoulder, embarrassed maybe. Worse, humiliated.

“I can’t get mad at you for that.”

“You should.”

Wonwoo sighs, “it wouldn’t be right.”

“Who cares if it isn’t right,” Seungkwan mumbles.

It's only later that Wonwoo will realize it, once he’s shown the gaping wounds he otherwise pretends are faded scars, once Seungkwan takes his hand in his and stitches him back together. Will they both realize it at the same second, or do they need to catch up first? He’s bared himself before him, silently asking, “please do not put the knife back in and twist it. I've let you in freely, I've let you see my wounds. Please help me sew them shut.”

When Seungkwan kisses him, it feels like he’s saying, “we can fix this, you are not broken in a way that is beyond repair.”

**Author's Note:**

> [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/bookkeu)


End file.
